I could write about crying on television.... once again.... with feeling... or about the loss of Christina and the strength of her family. I could write about ripping band aids off slowly healing emotional wounds. I could.
But I'm refusing to walk down that path today. The sun is out, the road construction crews are still letting us leave the neighborhood, my Art History and The Cinema class was outstanding and the USA has advanced to the final round of the Women's World Cup.
Life is good.
I walked all around Chase Field yesterday, from the player's parking lot through the rotunda and down to our seats and then back up for snacks, and that was after Imelda gave us the grand tour of her work place, and I showed nary a limp at all. My hip was an after-thought, not the center of attention. That's something new since the 8th of January.
I don't need my left leg to lift my right leg onto the bed anymore. I can do squats and I can balance on one leg and Kyria says I can join a group pilates class in the Fall because I am recovering more rapidly than she had imagined I would. Marcus the Master Manipulator is still convinced that he can lengthen my leg, and I'm putting that thought on the happy side of the ledger, too.
Little Cuter and SIR ironed their CTG memorial patches onto their softball team jerseys and then went on to win for the first time this season. Big Cuter is in the middle of reading A Dance with Dragons, the latest of a series and for which he has been waiting 6 years. I have a shelf full of novels of my own choosing, having finished all the paid reviews in my queue.
With all this good stuff going on, I have to wonder why I was appalled by the classmate who asked me how I was doing, emotionally, with all this stuff, today. What was her problem? Was the fact that I wasn't lurching or carrying an assistive device indicative of inner joy? I had just met her; did that give her permission to inquire about my mental health? Luckily, the elevator arrived and whisked her up to her car. I didn't have a chance to respond.
But "Rotten" was my reply to the closing door. "Absolutely rotten." I can't get over the loss of my little friend. I won't get over it. I don't want to get over it. I do want to find a place to store it with fewer jagged edges than its current resting space. I'm still conflicted about avoiding the anniversary celebrations last week. The shoulds are hard to ignore.
And then I remember the words which accompanied a big hug last night at the All Star Game. One of the heroes of January 8th was seated behind us. As always when we meet, she enveloped me in her arms and held me and we sniffled a bit and then I began apologizing for not attending the events and she interrupted me, looked around to be sure we were not overheard, and then told me that she was glad I had not gone.
She said that the yellow caution tape the promoters had used reminded them of the crime scene tape of that Saturday morning. She said the bagpipes and the memories were more than she could bear. She was delighted that I had protected myself and stayed away.
And that's when I knew that this funk will not last forever. My instincts are leading me down the right path.... if I can remember to follow them and to forgive myself for not being everything to everybody. I cannot stay stuck here because the people who love me will not allow it. They will gently turn me toward the sunshine, holding my heart in their hands until I can move away from the gloom.
I could write about the sad. Today, I am choosing not to do so.
It's a step. A small step, but a step nonetheless. One foot in front of the other..... I'll get there .... eventually..... with time.